


Farm Days

by Blanketempress



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Farm days content, Gen, Retribution Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 21:19:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19304044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blanketempress/pseuds/Blanketempress
Summary: Could be chapter 1 to the Babystep fic, why Daze ran and how they were before becoming Sidestep





	Farm Days

Life was rather uneventful, back in the days. Sleeping, training. Sometimes they tore you apart, sometimes they took things out, replaced them by spares. Sometimes there were needles, these you disliked. It made them laugh to see the way you reacted compared to how obedient and quiet you were at all times, seeing you tense and almost try to move away from them when they held needles too close to you, it was hilarious to them.

The first thing that you ever felt was _curiosity_. Before you understood pain, before you knew fear. Curiosity.

There were hours in black rooms where no sounds filtered, that smelled the same as your skin and your clothes. Curiosity saved you, back there. What is happening outside? Where are your handlers? Eventually you started _feeling_ others. Guessing where they were, guessing what they were doing. Maybe it was just your imagination, maybe it was the too many drugs and weird things they fed you daily. Maybe you went crazy.

That ability, that sixth sense kept growing, until you could finally hear people’s thoughts, feel their emotions, guess their intents. You were praised, everyone looked so pleased. They put you through so many tests and such heavy training. Until you bled, until you passed out. But curiosity each time was stronger. More pressing than their questions and their insistance.

What if-

What about-

What if you tried-

Soon enough you knew everything there was to know about this place. The Farm. You knew every face, every name, every matricle. Some tried to hide their thoughts. You were given pills to numb you, to prevent you from using that new sense of yours when some special people came in.

Your room felt too small. All was so silent in it, so still. Your handlers didn’t even call it a room, but you stole the word from their minds, the concept behind it pleased you. The place in which someone comes to rest. A personal space.

You could see so many things through your handlers’ minds. All lookd interesting on their own, some mysterious, some made sense, some felt like puzzles to put together. You asked yourself so many questions. You knew better than to ask outloud. Until you managed to push these questions into their heads directly, prod them into thinking about what you wanted to see.

What’s the color of the sky? What does the air outside taste like?

You got caught more than once. They punished you. But you reasoned that if they didn’t want you to come in their mind to take the answers they refused to give, they would protect their minds better. You heard them talk, call you _a very smart dog, nothing more. Learning tricks, pushing to test their owner’s bondaries._ Dogs are meant to be tamed before they can be of any use. You had to be tamed and trained to do tricks. It made sense. It fit the images you saw, it fit the reactions you felt. On that front your curiosity was satisfied.

Curiosity turned into frustration after a while.

How are you supposed to believe that the sky is blue when you never witnessed it yourself? How are you supposed to be satisfied with only ever breathing outside through others’ memories?

The first time they brought you out was at night, there were thousands of small dots flickering in the sky. It was not blue, it made you happy to find out about it. They brought you in the middle of stome desert fields, ordered you to wait an hour. Ordered you to find your way back. A good dog always finds the way home, they said. You kept looking at the stars. You knew how the winds form, you knew that far away from here, the stars were just giant balls of gas set ablaze. But in the middle of nowhere, the wind on your skin was delightful.

It took you three days to make it back. They took notes and brought their needles too close, taking blood and pumping strange liquids into your veins. You stopped struggling a long time ago but still tensed when they pierced your skin. Two scars formed on both your arms, another grew on your neck.

Training changed, more specific. They talked about missions. They talked about how to fit in. You did your best, even tried to surpass their expecations. If you did good, if you behaved, they would allow you to get out again. So you made sure they knew you were excellent.

Loneliness took a long time to settle. It rose slowly, spreading almost without your notice. You were offered free time. Times to practice on your own, times when they would keep an eye on you, see how you acted and reacted. You made sure to keep your hands busy, to have a book to study. And you let your mind wander. You became pretty good at brushing over people’s minds without them noticing. Your handlers rarely realized it by now. Eventually your reach expanded, you could feel the presence of all the people present in the facility. Handlers, researchers, guards. Others like you.

You trained with others, fighting against them or side by side, allowed to use weapons or not, allowed to use your ability or not. But you never _talked_ with them. So you tried to reach out to them. Some minds recoiled in fear, some were too shielded, many were too hazy to form coherent thoughts. Too many of them were merly echoes, directives linked to practiced moves and lines.

Loneliness settled. You found one other, one other mind that seemed kind of open to yours. You started talking to them. You did not get any answers at first. Out of boredom, out of loneliness, you still talked. You wanted someone to share your thoughts with, to share your discoveries and your stories with. Answers reached you after a while, you did all you could to encourage it. These thoughts were just raw emotions at first, getting stronger and more precise as time went by. After a few weeks you started exchanging words, sentences.

You talked of what you knew, of what you saw outside. He, _he_ , was a future operative. The ones who worked in teams, the ones who worked outside more often than not. He did not spend so much time outside, so you started to share with him all these images you saw in the handlers’ minds, you even shared the memory of that one night when you walked outside for the first time. The reactions you got were both amazement and sadness. _Never for us_. Never for the ones like you.

Bitterness got too strong. You contacted the other mind less often. You still talked, but you stopped talking of the outside. It was still comforting. You never told your handlers, never let them find about it, you knew already, you guessed how they would react.

Time passed. You went on missions. It was easy enough at first, you almost did not need any of your abilities. You still did your very best, eager to please, eager to show that you were good enough to be send outside again. It became more dangerous each time, more complicated. You loved the new challenges, loved that you _had_ to think and act by yourself to make sure everything went smoothly. New people, new thought patterns.

Eventually you could foresee how people would act and react, guess their thoughts before they even formed in their minds. All the people you met, all the people surrounding you worked the same. Thought the same. One base, few variations. You rarely got surprised anymore, rarely got caught offguard.

Boredom. Yearning. Curiosity.

You started dreaming of the sky again, night skies, clouded skies, clear skies. You started dreaming of running, of throwing yourself out there, discover it all without restrains, getting the whole cake instead of crumbs.

You ran, found the outside world, found dawn breaking. Life turned from a straight road to a maze.

Curiosity killed the cat.

They tried to put you back in the line, to bring you back from that maze. Tore you apart, dissect everything they could from your body and mind to try to understand what malfunctioned, to try to mend the torn, replace the broken.

Satisfaction brought it back.

You know your place now.

Curiosity drowned under disinterest. Yearning turned into apathy.

Deep down you know, you’re still an obedient dog. A puppy kicked enough times to cower at the mere sound of _that one voice_. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try your best to rip off the hand that fed before it hits again.


End file.
